


Moving Mountains

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadot_kitty



Series: As You Are [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Disabled Reader, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Soft Loki, Steamy Smut, Tooth Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Reader hasn't got the spoons for a fancy night out. So, the night out will come to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with my epic friend, @hopelessromanticspoonie. Love ya!

“And I swear, Cap’s eyes just about bugged out of his head when he tasted the “everything” nachos. They didn’t have that his first time around. I-” Nat paused with her fork halfway to her mouth in what Tony called “the cantina.”

It was actually a two level restaurant serving pretty much anything the team of superheroes and their support workers, including you, could wish for.

“Are you okay?” the redhead asked, perceptive as ever.

You twirled some pasta around your own fork. “Sure.”

Nat set her cutlery down. “You could come with us, you know.”

You met her gaze. “I know. I just…. I want to save my spoons for work. Tony doesn’t pay me to goof off.”

Rolling her eyes, Nat scooped up another fork of meatballs. “Tony pays you to use your brilliant brain, but not to work yourself into an early grave. He’d totally let you start work later if you came to party with us.”

She was sweet. She’d never know how much you appreciated the effort that she and the other Avengers went to, to include you, particularly since you’d started seeing Loki.

_ Seeing.  _ What a stupid term for dating. You’d  _ seen _ Loki plenty of times before his caring nature had come to light - around you at least. Maybe it was that you were seeing him clearly now, where everyone else still painted him in varying shades of Bad Guy.

“Thanks, Nat. I mean it.”

Someone like her, with strength and stamina and so much skill, would never appreciate just how many spoons it sometimes took just for you to get out of bed in the morning. And that wasn’t a failing of hers. Many people didn’t know, because they’d never experienced such bone-breaking exhaustion.

Later, you turned the key in your door and dropped your bag on its hook, locking up to see Loki sprawled on your couch, black button-down shirt open at the neck, jeans moulded to that  _ ridiculous _ ass.

“Hey,” you called, your brain fried from a day of working on a new firewall.

“I heard some …. Rumours today,” he said softly as you came to sit down next to him. He automatically lifted your feet on to his lap and removed your sensible lace up shoes, using his skilled fingers to massage your aching toes and instep.

It was heaven. You lay back against the sofa cushions. “About?”

“About you, kitten.”

Your eyes snapped open. “I’d like to think Tony would at least deign to tell me if he had an issue with my work.”

He tutted. “Not about your skills, darling. Nothing to do with that overdressed ape, in fact.”

You sniggered. “Overdressed? You’re in, what, Armani?”

Loki shrugged one elegant shoulder, his eyebrow quirking. “I wear the clothes, kitten. They do not wear me. Can Stark say the same?”

He did  _ something _ with his thumb on your instep and your eyes closed again.

“I heard that you wish you could carouse more. With the Avengers.”

You let out a sigh as you relaxed into his touch, the familiar smell of him and your apartment seeping into your system and sending the signals of _safe. _It wasn’t as if you weren’t safe at work, but you had to always be on guard, working to hide the constant ache in your bones and the fatigue tugging at your eyelids. Here, you were free to let go of the illusion of normalcy, and that was a blessing that you would never take for granted.

Especially with Loki.

“I just don’t have the spoons. It’s not the  _ being _ out. It’s work. Then coming home. Getting ready. Then getting  _ there. _ And then getting home, undressing, taking off complex sexy lady clothes and make-up. It all takes up spoons I’ll need for the next day. It’s like a spoon mountain.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully. “And what about if, as I have heard Midgardians say, the mountain were to come to Mohammed?”

You sat up. “What… do you mean?”

He snapped his fingers imperiously and a plate of gourmet-arranged food appeared in the air. Another snap of his digits and it was gone. “We never need leave your home, should you not have the, ah, spoons, as I can bring the experience here. To you.”

“I…” You stared at the space the plate had been hovering in, wordless.

“Come on, kitten. You’ve seen my parlour tricks before.”

_ Parlour tricks. _ “You could be using them for… things more important than me.”

He scoffed. “If you truly believe that, you haven’t been paying attention over the last few weeks. You  _ are _ important to me.”

You didn’t reply to that, because you were only human, and what the  _ holy hell _ did you say when a God told you that?

“Tomorrow, you do not work. Correct?” he asked.

“Right.”

“Then save your spoons for me. You need not go anywhere; I shall come to you. Seven sharp.” He set your feet down gently. “Now, what shall we have for that meal you call dinner? I believe I saw some frozen pizza in your icebox which I can make halfway decent if you have some Serrano ham and a little basil.”

******

You were in the bedroom when you heard Loki come in. You’d given him a key again; despite his protestations that it wasn’t “customary” as you were courting. It was so much easier.

Critically, you assessed your reflection in the mirror. You had a few nice dresses, and this little black number skimmed your curves and showed off the girls to their best. OK, you’d never be Jennifer Lawrence, but you were happy with what you saw. And a lot of that, you owed to the man pottering around in the kitchen area right now.

Because you were, after all, only human, you added a slick of coppery eye shadow and a mascara to your look before opening the door.

“Kitten, I-”

Loki turned and the expression of pure  _ lust _ that paraded over his face had been worth the spoons you used getting ready.

“You are stunning.”

And for a guy who hung out with Natasha Romanov and Maria Hill on a daily basis, that compliment from  _ him _ bowled you over.

“Thanks. You look amazing, too.”

The skinny black tie he’d paired with a black three piece suit made him look fresh off the runway. He’d pulled his hair back into a loose cue, a few strands loosely curling into his cheeks. He looked intimidating, sexy. 

Touchable.

Your curled your hands into fists.

Loki blinked. “Where are my manners? I promised you an outing. Close your eyes.”

Trusting him, you did as he bid.

“Open.”

Your studio flat had vanished. In its place stood exposed brick walls, gleaming hardwood floors. A single table sat in what was previously your living area, draped in a pristine white cloth, a candlestick and a squat glass jar of fat pink roses at its centre. Soft wall scones provided enough light to see, the soft yellow glow kissing Loki’s cheekbones and making his face of planes and angles only more appealing. As if he needed help in that department.

Loki crossed the floor and pulled out one chair at the table. 

Spellbound, you sat, staring in awe at the perfect replica of one of New York’s most exclusive restaurants,  _ The Potted Pig. _

“I assure you, it is but an illusion,” Loki chuckled as he sat opposite you. He held out his hand and you placed your fingers on his palm. His hand was warm and solid and you relaxed, incrementally.

You heard a door close, and footsteps. When you looked up, grinning Thor stood before you, napkin draped over one shoulder, but otherwise wearing his uniform, these days, of a grey hoodie and jeans. 

“Good evening, my lady,” he intoned solemnly.

A laugh burst out of you.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I’m afraid to say that no one else was available on such short notice.”

Thor dug a phone from his jean pocket. “Jane asked me to procure a photo. May I?”

“If you  _ must, _ ” Loki drawled, at the same time as you said, “Sure, why not.”

He snapped a few pictures. You suspected in the picture that you were smiling inanely, whilst Loki probably wore his trademark expression, a mixture of strained patience and boredom. You were really starting to get endeared to it.

“Thank you.” Thor slid the phone away and then produced a pair of leather-bound menus from under his arm. “Your menus. May I get you something to drink?”

“A bottle of Masseto,” Loki ordered, without looking at the menu.

Thor gave a very poor impression of a subservient bow before walking off out of the illusion. The brick wall shimmered as he passed through it.

You took a long moment to reflect on how strange your life had become.

“Now.” Loki passed you a menu. “Order whatever your heart desires, kitten. Stark will foot the bill. I conjured some gold for him this morning in payment.”

Your eyes widened. “You can’t just…. Make…. Gold…”

“And why not?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. What was the harm? As if Tony needed gold anyway. He was richer than any man needed to be in a thousand lifetimes. Tony received a new toy, and you would enjoy a night of gourmet food. The trade was fair.

“I trust you saved as many spoons as possible for this evening, darling?”

You met his gaze over the ridge of your menu. “I sure did.”

A smile curved his poet’s mouth, slow, sensual, devastating. His green gaze darkened, sending a shiver skating down your spine. “Good. Then you’ll have the energy for dessert.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader discovers that Loki's dessert for the evening doesn't involve anything that can be found in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Co-written with my awesome amiga, yespolkadot_kitty. She's amazing!

“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” you groaned, settling back in your chair, holding your hands over your stomach for full gluttonous effect.

A touch of amused softness crinkled around Loki’s eyes as he smiled at you, and the illusion of the beautiful restaurant that had taken over your apartment faded away. He reached out across your small kitchen table, caressing his hand over your wrist. “I promised you dessert, yes?”

Your heart fluttered as his thumb skimmed over your pulse suddenly racing beneath the thin flesh of your wrist. Swallowing to ease some of the dryness of your throat, you nodded. “You did.”

He rose gracefully, coming around to pull you to your feet by your hands, dropping them so his could rest on the curve of your hip. You let your hands wander up his arms, smoothing over the soft fabric of his suit jacket, before coming to rest on his broad shoulders. The barest flicker of lust darkened his gaze as he pulled you close, so your chests brushed with each breath.

“How are you spoons, kitten?” He dipped his head down to leave a light kiss on your cheek before rasping his lips against your earlobe when he whispered darkly, “Ready for dessert?”

The promised sin dripping from his words shot a wave of heat to pool between your legs, and you clenched your thighs together to try to tame your already building desire. How he could manage that with practically no effort was mind-boggling. Summoning all of your courage at the anxious excitement bubbling in your stomach, you rubbed your slightly trembling thumbs over his shoulders. 

“I am. Just…” you trailed off, chewing your bottom lip between your teeth. The patient, if not expectant, look he gave you bolstered you into quietly, hesitantly, voicing your doubts. “Take it slow?”

Loki was all male, strong and confident, with muscles that rippled pleasantly beneath your roaming touch. You had seen him training with Thor, you knew just how capable he was physically. Would your limitations be a disappointment to him? Would he suddenly realize that you weren’t as whole as he tried to impress upon you day in and day out and leave?

His lips came down upon yours, slow and languid, tasting of the slightly bitter red wine that you’d had with dinner. He forced you to cast all doubts aside when his hands curved around your waist to bunch the skirt of your dress around the curve of your backside, pulling your hips against his. The beginnings of his arousal stirred between you, letting you know in no uncertain terms what he had in mind for the remainder of the evening.

Drawing back, he let his forehead come to rest against yours intimately. It felt like his dark green eyes were gazing into your soul from so close, but you couldn’t look away. “You have trusted me in caring for you in so many ways throughout our courtship. Trust me, now, to treat you as a man should the woman he most cares for.”

You were breathless at the intensity and sincerity of his request. How could you say no to that? Stuffing your fears deep down inside of you where they couldn’t hold you back, you let your hands slide back to tangle in the raven locks curling slightly at his neck, pulling out the leather he had used to tie into the low ponytail and letting it fall to the floor behind him. “I trust you.”

In one smooth motion, so as not to jostle you too much, he bent down and picked you up with a strong arm behind your knees and your back, holding you to his chest. He carried you as if you were nothing, pinning you beneath his burning gaze as he strode off toward your bedroom. _“Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, Until I labour, I in labour lie,”_ he murmured, his voice taking on the slightly reverent tone it did when he read poetry to you to lull you to sleep.

But it had the opposite affect this time, spoken with a rougher, harsher voice as he sat you down onto the edge of your bed. 

“More poetry?” you teased.

“John Donne was a master of seduction, kitten.” He knelt in front of you, gliding his deft-fingered hands down your calves. _“Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.”_

Your shoes he gently set on the floor beside him before skimming his way up your legs, moving over your skirt and up your sides. Each delicate touch added further fire to the liquid heat pooling inside of you, stealing your breath away and quickening your heartbeat. You felt like putty beneath his hands, and he had hardly even touched you.

One hand curled behind your neck, tugging you down slightly so that his lips could easily reach the pulse fluttering just above your collarbone. He feathered kisses across your flushed skin as he unzipped the dress from behind you, coaxing it from your body with measured, steady movements. A gasp sounded from your throat at the barest graze of his teeth against your earlobe, and he chuckled darkly.

_“Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,”_ he purred, helping you lift your hips to shimmy the fabric off of your body to fall to the floor on top of your shoes. His eyes devoured you slowly, taking in your heaving breasts barely contained in your lace bra, the hint of your sex concealed by matching lace at the apex of your closed thighs, and the clenched muscles of your stomach like he was a man dying of thirst and you were the sweetest wine.

You didn’t have fancy words or an elegant voice dripping in sin, and you couldn’t have begun to think of anything clever to say, not with him ghosting his calloused fingertips up your thighs, but you knew what you wanted. Curling your fingers around his skinny black tie, you tugged upward until he sat next to you on the bed.

He moved fluidly with your unspoken request, cradling one arm behind your back to ease you down onto the bed, following you with hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into the tops of your breasts. You busied yourself with removing the silken fabric, pulling it from his collar and tossing it to the side unceremoniously. 

“You’re far too overdressed,” you explained breathlessly, earning you a wolfish smile when he rose up to sit on his heels at your admonishment.

“We can’t have that.”

He maintained eye contact with you as he shrugged off the well-fitted jacket, adding it to the growing pile of clothing on your bedroom floor. Your eyes left his to follow his fingers as they nimbly undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing inch by glorious inch of pale flesh to you. You longed to reach out, trace the planes and valleys of his lean, muscular torso, but all thought was wiped from your mind when his hands loosened his thin leather belt, drawing it through the loops of his slacks before dropping it to the floor as well.

He finally ended your suffering, watching him strip bare before your eyes, and you took in his breathtaking naked form as he stood beside the bed to fully step out of his pants and underwear. He was all long lines and sinewed muscles, flexing and rolling beneath his pale skin that glowed like a beacon in the faint glow of the city lights filtering in through your blinds. You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to fall on his cock, long and impressive as you’d imagined with his height, twitching once against his hard stomach at your appreciative smile.

He was truly a God, a being of mythical beauty and power, crawling like a panther along the bed to stretch alongside the length of you. His hand splayed across your stomach, just touching the smooth flesh he found there and he caught your mouth in a kiss as his leg slipped over yours, settling the warm, heavy weight of his erection against your hip bone.

Eagerly, he tangled his tongue with yours, swallowing your small gasp of surprise and pleasure as his hand traveled up your body to tweak the hardened peak of your breast, rolling it between his forefinger and thumb. Unable to resist, you rolled your hips against him, driven by the sparks of desire lighting up your nerve endings like wildfire.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, small pants fanning across your skin when you reached out to tease your fingertips against the length of his erection experimentally. He was warm, like steel sheathed in satin, and while you had known a man before, you already knew he was unlike anyone else. You curled your hands around the head of him, stroking him slowly, and his hips bucked against you each time your thumb grazed across the silky, weeping head of his cock.

He lifted his head to look into your eyes, drawing his hand lower and lower, to rest just above the wet heat of your sex. “Are you certain about this, kitten?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow by your shoulder so he could cup your jaw and caress his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

The soft-spoken answer came to you without hesitation or thought. “It’s _you_, Loki. I’ve never been more sure of anything.” You punctuated you statement with a twist of your wrist, making him close his eyes briefly and groan at the pleasure of it.

It was the most wonderful sound you’d ever heard.

He nudged your legs apart with his knee, watching for your reaction as dipped his fingers into your wet folds, gathering the slick there before swirling his fingers around your throbbing clit. Your breath hitched, and he smiled, rolling his cock into your hand in time with his fingers scissoring over your hardened bundle of nerves.

Pleasure tightened in a hot, liquid coil in your lower belly, tensing your muscles and stealing the air from the room. Your bit your lip against the intensity of it, clenching your eyes shut as molten lava rolled out from your core.

“Loki, please…”

His lips circled over a rosy nipple, nibbling and teasing the bud before suckling on it fervently. “Let go, kitten. I’ll catch you. Always.”

That was all it took. With a loud, shuddering cry, you lost yourself in your orgasm, clinging to him tightly as waves of ecstasy held you in their depths. You were vaguely aware of Loki murmuring sweet nothings to you, peppering soft kisses to your cheeks and jaw, his fingers slowly guiding you back down to the heaven that existed in this bed with him.

Opening your heavy-lidded eyes, you found Loki poised above you, smoothing a condom over himself. He lowered himself overtop you, his elbows on either side of your shoulders, his hips settled into the cradle of your thighs so that his cock came to lie heavily against your throbbing sex.

“I won’t hurt you?” he asked quietly, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock.

You bucked your hips upward, wrapping your arms around him to trace the flexing muscles of his back lovingly. You’d never been more ready for sex in your life. “You _can’t_ hurt me.”

One more kiss, his mouth slanted across yours expertly, and he slid inside of you, inch by inch, allowing you to get used to him stretching you exquisitely. Your muscles fluttered around him, the aftershocks of your first orgasm still twitching in your boneless body, and you swallowed his pleasured moan with your tongue teasing along his in a dance you had perfected over several nights of heady exploration.

But that was nothing compared to the feel of him fully sheathed within you, his heart racing against yours, pelvis rubbing against your clit when he lifted his head up enough to take in your expression. Your hands slid down to cup his backside, urging him onward.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as hoarse moans escaped him. You held onto him desperately, delighting in the feel of him working above you and inside you expertly. Each thrust dragged against your clit, and when he bottomed out, rubbed against your innermost spot that made fire light up your skin.

You chased your releases together, clinging to each other in the darkness, surrounded by the sound of flesh meeting flesh and excited moans ringing out in the small bedroom. With a breathless gasp, you dug your nails into his skin as you tumbled willingly into the abyss of the bliss he had coaxed from you. His hips snapped against yours, stuttering, before he followed you with a loud moan that was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard.

Panting, he fell onto the bed beside you, disposing of the protection before brushing a kiss over the sweat-dampened skin of your shoulder. Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, a dreamy smile on your face as you rolled over on your side to drape yourself across his chest. Only the faintest of twinges of your back spoke of the pain you’d feel tomorrow at the exertion, but you’d suffer a thousand days for the warmth that bloomed in your chest at the contented smile he bestowed upon you.

You traced idle shapes over his rabbiting heartbeat in his chest, settling your head onto the place where his chest met shoulder. “What was that poem called?”

He used his magic to pull the sheets out from under you to cover your sweat-soaked bodies, protecting them from the chill of the air in your apartment. One hand traced over the dip of your lower back gently, absentmindedly, while the other settled over yours on his torso, holding you to him. “To His Mistress Going to Bed.”

You couldn’t help but smirk playfully even as you snuggled into him, sleep tugging at the edges of your mind. “I’m your mistress then, am I?”

His earnest reply, whispered in the dark cocoon of your bed, was all you heard before you gave in to the pleasant exhaustion weighing you down. 

“You know you’re more than that; you’re _everything_.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Potted Pig is infact a restaurant where I'm from in Cardiff. It is AMAZING. You have to book ages in advance.


End file.
